Something has been getting our chickens. Buffy disappeared day before yesterday, and we woke up to Janice’s mangled corpse in the yard. We think it happened in the middle of the night, but they ought to have been in the coop, none of these chickens are known to sleep outside, they’re two of the first in, actually.
Thinking they must have gotten them before the automatic coop door closed, I sat on my back porch with my gun on my lap, waiting.
I’ve never felt more country, it’s not a bad feeling, really. It’s a good feeling. In the end, I stayed until the door closed, or tried to close. Compacted wood shavings prevented it from closing, so the creature of the night just waltzed right in and took a bird or two out, purely at their leisure.
I cleaned out the shavings and got it to shut right, but before that I had a good long while to think about how I’d feel about killing a fox or a racoon, or a bobcat.
I’d feel good about it, I think. They’re killing my chickens, they’re my chickens. This is my place, and they’re under my protection.
I have a hard time killing chickens because they’re innocent, by that logic, so are the foxes. I say foxes because that would be the worst possible animal to kill, they’re too beautiful
I’d feel good about it, I think. They’re killing my chickens, they’re my chickens. This is my place, and they’re under my protection.
I have a hard time killing chickens because they’re innocent, by that logic, so are the foxes. I say foxes because that would be the worst possible animal to kill, they’re too beautiful
Foxes are innocent, but this is part of the game. They try to get my chickens, and I try to stop them. First with fences, and doors, then with firearms. I’m glad it didn’t come to that this time, but I think I’d accept it, if it did.
It makes me wonder about deer. There’s something primal and human and masculine about sitting with a rifle on your lap, just looking and listening. It’s a form of meditation, on death, on food, on the game and the world. A deer is innocent, and they’ll ahve done nothing but wander onto my property the same way they have a thousand times. I give thanks to them for their trail maintenance almost every day.
Truth be told the appeal of getting to sit and meditate, and for the reward there from to be a winter’s worth of free meat? It’s hard to resist, moral qualms or not. That’s how frugal I am.
It makes me wonder about deer. There’s something primal and human and masculine about sitting with a rifle on your lap, just looking and listening. It’s a form of meditation, on death, on food, on the game and the world. A deer is innocent, and they’ll ahve done nothing but wander onto my property the same way they have a thousand times. I give thanks to them for their trail maintenance almost every day.
Truth be told the appeal of getting to sit and meditate, and for the reward there from to be a winter’s worth of free meat? It’s hard to resist, moral qualms or not. That’s how frugal I am.